


At Loggerheads

by My_Alter_Ego



Series: “The Beginning, The Middle, and The Ending” [1]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Disappointing Outcomes, Gen, Headcanon, art heist, interrogations, pre-series AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:49:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25463506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Alter_Ego/pseuds/My_Alter_Ego
Summary: “The Beginning, The Middle, and The Ending” is my AU series arc that spans Neal and Peter’s relationship from the beginning of the chase to my fictional conclusion several years later. In this opening story, “At Loggerheads,” the FBI suspects that Neal Caffrey, an elusive but, as yet, still free suspect, is responsible for the theft of a valuable museum painting. Just like always, the Bureau has no hard evidence, but they haul him in for questioning, just the same. Later, Peter gets an unexpected glimpse into a con man’s mindset and it just makes matters worse.
Relationships: Peter Burke & Neal Caffrey
Series: “The Beginning, The Middle, and The Ending” [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1844380
Kudos: 27





	At Loggerheads

Peter Burke, along with Diana Berrigan and Clinton Jones, were standing in front of a two-way glass panel gazing at the person seated in a room they called “the box.” The lone occupant in that stuffy enclosure was a relaxed and incredibly handsome Neal Caffrey, or at least that was the name the young scoundrel used most often. Although handcuffed to a metal bar in the center of a table bolted to the floor, Caffrey looked resigned but at ease, almost as if he were meditating in a quiet ashram in a far off hermitage. This wasn’t the first time that the obnoxious millennial had been detained by the Federal authorities. Peter had been hot on his trail of frauds, forgeries, and heists for months, and there had been many such interrogations. But having actual, unadulterated evidence had proved to be an elusive fantasy. Trying to make anything stick was like hurling Jell-O at a wall and expecting it to stay there.

Today, FBI agents had corralled him on the street and brought him in for questioning about the theft of a Titian from the MoMA. It had been a stupendous light-fingered caper which had all the earmarks of Caffrey’s trademark hubris. Two nights ago, inside a now empty gilt frame in the museum, responding police detectives had gazed at a taunting little yellow sticky note with a huge question mark drawn with a black Sharpie pen. The local NYPD was only too happy to hand this case over to White Collar.

“That obnoxious punk looks pretty cocky and full of himself,” Jones remarked in contempt as he surreptitiously studied Caffrey. “It’s going to be nice seeing you wipe that expression off his face, Agent Burke.”

Peter was silent for a moment as he stared at his elusive quarry and took a sip of his coffee. He was using his FBI mug, but in his other hand was a large venti cup of java from a trademark coffeehouse. “I think that today the two of you should do the honors,” Peter finally acknowledged as he handed Diana the take-out cup. “I’ll stay out here and see how well you can do with him. Offer him the drink. It has a little cream and sugar, just like he takes it. If he accepts the bait, we can obtain his DNA. We didn’t have enough probable cause to toss his suite at the Gansevoort Hotel, so the forensics team couldn’t even snag a toothbrush. Actually, we really have absolutely zilch to take to a grand jury for an indictment because he left nothing of himself behind at the scene. But perhaps you can shake his confidence, maybe plant some seeds of doubt in his mind. Just do your best to rattle his cage. With two new people in his face, he could be knocked off his stride. It’s probably wistful thinking, but perhaps he may let something slip and then we can nail his ass to the wall.”

“On it, Boss,” Diana murmured as she straightened her spine. Jones tried to look menacing, as well, when the two abruptly strode into the interrogation room with a sense of purpose. Caffrey looked up and graced them with an innocently charming smile.

“I’m surprised you didn’t get yourself out of these things,” Jones remarked flatly as he ambled over to unlock the manacles that bound the suspected thief. “That’s your usual stock in trade, isn’t it?”

Now Neal’s expression changed as he rewarded Jones with a sardonic grin. “I don’t perform parlor tricks unless I have a more engaged and appreciative audience.”

As Jones glowered, the young man continued to speak. “Where’s Agent Burke today? Since he’s sent the junior varsity onto the field, I must assume he is occupied with more pressing issues than little old me. Maybe he’s busy toppling other Bernie Madoff types. Tell me, was he in on the takedown of nefarious Martha Stewart some years ago? If so, arresting that scary and dangerous villainess must have been a real feather in his cap.”

“Shut up, Caffrey,” Jones snarled before Diana took over.

“Stop with all the sniping, Neal,” she said casually as she placed the coffee next to the suspect’s hand. She intentionally used the guy’s first name to establish either rapport or dominance, and right now she would have to see how that all played out.

Neal gazed at the coffee and then slid his blue eyes to her brown ones. “I think I should be suspicious of Greeks bearing gifts, so I’m good for now.”

“Suit yourself,” Diana shrugged as she sat down across from him and placed a manila folder between them on the table. “We have a lot of things to discuss today—all evidence annotated right here in black and white.” In truth, Diana was bluffing. There wasn’t anything in the FBI’s arsenal that would be any help in taking Caffrey off the streets.

“Do tell,” Neal encouraged. “I’m all ears and I like to hear a good fairy tale. But first, perhaps you could make something clear for me. Am I under arrest for something? If so, then I haven’t heard anybody droning on and on with that old Miranda warning. You do realize that’s a necessary first step. I wouldn’t want anyone to end up with egg on their face if I am mistakenly charged with some crime and the whole thing gets tossed because of a little technical snafu.”

“You haven’t been formally charged yet so there’s no need for you to call a lawyer, but that could all change very soon,” Diana warned.

“Got it in one,” Neal responded. “I’m intrigued, so lay it on me, Sherlock. Fill in the blanks and tell me about this ‘damning’ evidence that you say you have.”

Diana handed the interrogation off to Jones. “What do you know about the theft of a painting from the MoMA two nights ago?” the earnest male agent demanded.

“Ah, the hauntingly beautiful Titian that somehow went astray,” the con man sighed pensively. “All I know is what I read in the funny papers.”

“We think you stole it,” Jones said with an edge in his voice.

“And I’m wounded that you have such a low opinion of me,” Neal chirped.

“Where were you between the hours of 11 pm and 2 am on Tuesday of this week?” Jones continued. The FBI knew that was the window during which the theft had occurred because the night security guard took that long to make a complete circuit of the huge museum. He had immediately called the police when he discovered a valuable painting had vanished into thin air.

Neal looked thoughtful. “I’m not quite sure of my exact whereabouts,” he mused. “If memory serves me, I believe I was taking in the wonderful nightlife that this fabulous city has to offer.”

“And was that nightlife somewhere uptown in the vicinity of West 53rd Street?” Jones kept plodding along.

“Oh, I get it,” Neal grinned. “That’s where the MoMA is located. Nope, sorry, I was nowhere near that museum during that timeframe. I believe I was doing the bar circuit down in SoHo. They have some real trendy establishments down there and even some great jazz.”

“Is there anybody who can vouch for you? Maybe you may have picked up a friend during your saloon-slumming?” Diana interrupted.

Neal turned to her and smiled. “If I had been lucky enough to meet someone as gorgeous as you, I’m sure I may have been tempted to linger a bit. Unfortunately, I never hooked up with anyone.”

“So, you have no alibi,” Diana stated sternly, ignoring Neal’s attempt to charm her.

“Didn’t know I’d need one,” he answered glibly.

“How about receipts for a taxi or an Uber to get all the way downtown from your hotel,” Jones pushed. “Do you have anything like that to prove you were where you say you were on the night in question?”

“Sorry, my friend. I took the subway,” Neal shrugged helplessly.

“Well, we don’t think you were ever there at all,” Diana interrupted as she and her coworker tag-teamed their prey. “We’ve looked at all the street cam footage of the city including the Lower East Side, and we didn’t see your smarmy mug anywhere. Now how is that possible? Were you wearing Harry Potter’s cloak of invisibility?”

“This is a big city just teeming with humanity,” Neal answered with a smirk. “Finding my face in a crowd is like looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack. You probably never got that far in your ridiculously frivolous investigation. Care to try again to trap me with another red herring?”

“Neal, we really aren’t all bumbling idiots here at the Bureau,” Diana seethed as she pulled a grainy black and white photo from her packet of papers. “We do have your face on camera at the MoMA days before the theft.”

“I love the MoMA and I visit often when I’m in town to view the fantastic masterpieces,” Neal said drolly. “On the day the security cameras snapped that image, I believe a very eager young art student had taken it upon herself to act as a docent and give me a private tour of her favorite paintings. She was really an extremely lovely and knowledgeable young woman and I greatly appreciated listening to her insights.”

“She specifically remembered that you asked about the Titian,” Jones said authoritatively.

“Did she volunteer that information, or did you perhaps get her all flustered and suggest it to meet your own ends?” Neal wanted to know. “To set the record straight, I got her slant on a lot of great Italian Renaissance artists that day, not just a single one to the exclusion of all the others. If that’s your idea of a smoking gun, then it’s pretty pitiful stuff.”

“DNA is not what I would call pitiful stuff,” Diana snarked. “You seem like a smart guy, so you know we can extract damning chromosomal evidence from a stray hair or even a miniscule drop of sweat. Did you happen to get a bit nervous and sweat during your little heist, Neal?”

“I don’t usually shed on the furniture, nor do I tend to get all hot and sweaty except if I’m in the sack with a lusty woman,” Neal answered slowly. “Stop trying to gaslight me, Miss Federal Agent. Besides, you don’t have my DNA on file.”

“You sure about that, Caffrey?” Jones challenged.

“If you did, then you wouldn’t be pushing a cup of coffee on me today,” the young con man answered arrogantly.

Diana sat back in her chair and went for a Cheshire Cat smile of her own. “We’ve saved the best for last, Mr. Know It All. We have a sworn statement from a local fence who attests that you approached him about moving that Titian up the food chain.”

This time, Neal actually laughed out loud. “Now that’s a bald-faced lie if I ever heard one.”

“Is it?” Jones stated firmly to shut down Neal’s glib reaction. “The man is prepared to testify before the Grand Jury that you wanted him to broker a deal for the sale of the stolen painting.”

Neal quirked an eyebrow. “If there is such a person, then you guys must have the dude by the short hairs concerning some other illegal transaction. You probably dangled a carrot in front of his face—lie through his teeth to finger me and then he gets a pass on some other misdeed that he committed.”

“Do you really think that’s the way we operate?” Diana tried to act haughty and affronted, even though Neal was correct. It was all a bluff. They had no middleman in custody.

“Most definitely,” Neal grinned. “Let me give you a little heads up. If you trot out some sketchy witness like that to take the stand, any mediocre lawyer will tear him and his credibility apart in under fifteen minutes. C’mon, guys, I expected better from you because I hold you to a higher standard.”

Peter’s stymied team sat back in their chairs and kept silent while they tried to regroup. Finally, Diana spoke up. “We can keep waltzing around this dance floor to the same old tune, Neal. Or we can put this to rest, once and for all. We’ll turn you loose if you agree to allow us to accompany you to your penthouse suite at the Gansevoort. Invite us in so that we can reassure ourselves that no Titian is inside and we’ll leave you alone, at least for now.”

Neal cocked his head. “If I am gracious enough to allow you entry into my room at the hotel, you can certainly gaze around at what’s in plain sight until the cows come home. You won’t find what you’re looking for, I swear. After that little chore is out of the way, maybe then you’ll be just as gracious and have a drink with me, pretty lady. Maybe you’ll even decide to stay a while,” he said amiably as he all but leered at Diana.

“Sorry, Buddy, but you’re not on my dance card, so you can stop trying to hit on me,” she simpered in return.

“Then it’s truly my loss, Diana,” Neal remarked, shocking his interrogator with the use of her first name. Caffrey definitely knew too much about the intricacies and the players in the White Collar office. As the trio stood up, Neal faced the mirror that took up almost the entire upper half of one wall in the room. He executed a smart, two-fingered salute and smiled. “I’ll drop in on you another time, Agent Burke.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Neal was as good as his word. Later that evening, Peter responded to a knock on his front door. The ballsy and brash young con artist was standing on the porch looking expectant and hopeful. “Can I come in and have a word with you, Peter?”

“You carrying, Caffrey?” Peter growled.

“Now, Buddy, you know I don’t like guns,” Neal frowned.

“It never hurts to ask,” Peter insisted as he opened the door wider, “and I’m not your Buddy! If you wish to address me, it’s Agent Burke.”

Satchmo, of course, was intrigued by the arrival of the stranger and sauntered over with his tail wagging. “At least one occupant of this house seems welcoming,” the young man snarked as he bent to scratch the yellow Lab’s ears. “Good pup,” he crooned softly making the dog wriggle with pleasure.

“Okay, so now you’re in. What did you want to say to me,” Peter demanded. Suddenly, he was talking to empty air because Neal had meandered into the living room and collapsed on the sofa like it was his very own.

“Make yourself at home, why don’t you,” Peter harrumphed with a frown as he seated himself on a chair across from an infuriating but un-prosecutable criminal.

“I’m really sorry I missed meeting your better half tonight, Peter,” Neal began softly, ignoring Peter’s dictate about names. “If my intel is accurate, she has a big anniversary shindig to cater in the city. Give the beautiful Elizabeth my regrets.”

Suddenly, Peter lurched from his chair and had his hand around Neal’s throat. “If you persist in stalking my wife, I will end you, Caffrey,” he snarled. “They’ll never find a trace of your body. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal,” Neal choked out in shock. “Wow, that was over-the-top, Peter,” a stunned young man finally managed to whisper when a very protective husband loosened his grip on Neal’s trachea.

“My family is off limits,” Peter said with narrowed eyes. “Keep that forever in mind. Now, just spit out whatever rubbish you came here to say. If you’re just here to gloat, then you can leave now. If you want to confess, then that’s a story I’m willing to hear.”

“I didn’t come here to be disrespectful—or to confess to anything,” the young man hastened to add as a way of beginning the stilted conversation. “I guess I was just disappointed that you didn’t handle the interrogation yourself today. I missed matching wits with you, Peter. I mean, Agents Berrigan and Jones are nice people, but they’re not you. Have I lost my charismatic appeal and I’m no longer that important to you? Have I become so boring that we’re over and done because you’ve moved on to more exciting criminals?”

Peter let out a gusty sigh. “Neal Caffrey, you are one strange and convoluted mess. What in the hell kind of criminal are you? Why do you specifically need my undivided attention? Why don’t you find another outlet for your spare time? Take up a legitimate hobby like skydiving or bungee jumping to get your thrills, and stop playing with fire in my playground. The FBI doesn’t make nice with criminals. I know you have financial resources squirreled away somewhere, so get out of Dodge while you can with your skin still intact. Prison stripes definitely wouldn’t look as good on you as your fancy tailored suits, and you may get really hurt.”

“If I got hurt, would you care?” Neal asked softly with no trace of sarcasm.

When Peter didn’t readily answer, Neal’s face fell and his expression became almost predatory. “Well, I guess that non-answer sums it up. So, now it’s game on, Agent Burke!” he said forcefully while abruptly standing and heading for the foyer.

Peter sat flabbergasted in his chair after the front door slammed and a bewildered Satchmo whined uneasily. The dedicated federal agent wasn’t sure what had just happened. Most criminals were downright stupid and that’s why they got caught, but Caffrey was one of the smart ones. Every move that he made was meticulously well played in whatever he envisioned this questionable competition to be. Peter felt a bit lost, and maybe, no matter how hard he tried, he’d probably never figure Neal Caffrey out. And maybe Peter was a bit afraid that, one day, he just might.

**Author's Note:**

> The second in my series of capsule vignettes is coming soon and takes place at the actual beginning of White Collar.


End file.
